A Week after the Hurricane, New York Public Housing Tenants Still without Heat, Water & Power

Martedì, 13 Novembre 2012

Nicola Sossass

Red Hook was hit particularly hard. The surge from Hurricane Sandy that swept through the development on October 29 dumped New York Harbor into the basements of several buildings, flooding boilers and electrical rooms and making quick recovery.

Burned-out homes in the Breezy Point, Queens. The tiny beachfront neighborhood told to evacuate before Sandy hit New York burned down as it was inundated by floodwaters, transforming a quaint corner of the Rockaways into a smoke-filled debris field (New York, October 30 2012, Mike Groll/AP)

The hand-written sign taped to the door at the Red Hook Houses said it all - "WE ARE NOT ANIMALS!"

A full week after Hurricane Sandy came and went, thousands of furious Housing Authority tenants in Brooklyn, Queens and Manhattan struggled Monday to survive in squalid conditions as NYCHA scrambled in vain to turn on power, heat and water.

"Nobody comes here to help. It's the land of the lost," declared a frustrated Ralph Fret, 64, pointing at the black fetid water that remained in the basement of his building -nearly to the ceiling. "You see all that water? You see a pump anywhere? They're not doing anything."

Burned-out homes in the Breezy Point, Queens. The tiny beachfront neighborhood told to evacuate before Sandy hit New York burned down as it was inundated by floodwaters, transforming a quaint corner of the Rockaways into a smoke-filled debris field (New York, October 30 2012, Mike Groll/AP)

As of Monday some 20,000 NYCHA tenants at 108 buildings in 17 projects in Brooklyn, Queens and Lower Manhattan remained in the dark on many levels - living without heat, water, elevators and light but also without word from officials about when things might get back to normal.

The lingering blackout affected different developments in different ways, with some buildings darkened and others blazing with light. At spot checks in two Brooklyn projects, residents said NYCHA had told them little about when conditions would improve.

Located a few blocks from the water, Red Hook was hit particularly hard. The surge from Hurricane Sandy that swept through the development Oct. 29 dumped New York Harbor into the basements of several buildings, flooding boilers and electrical rooms and making quick recovery impossible.

While most of the rest of the neighborhood got power back over the weekend, as of Monday NYCHA residents were still lugging plastic jugs of water up pitch-black stairwells, holding flashlights in their teeth to see as best they could. To alleviate the stench, someone had released water from a pump down the stairs, and tenants feared it would freeze as the temperatures drop.

Some residents continued to drop garbage down chutes to compactors that don't work, and it began piling up inside, reaching the third floor in one building. The interiors of some buildings reeked of decaying food.

And when the sun goes down, residents fearing robbers said they lock themselves inside with candles and flashlights, refusing to open the door to anyone. "Make sure you're upstairs before dark," said Mareln Mieles, 47. "don't answer to anyone - no matter whether they say police. We do not answer our doors."

At 4:30 Monday morning, Geraldine Seymore, 55, awoke to discover her apartment was filling up with water - on the ninth floor. A leak above created a cataract that poured through her light fixtures into her kitchen.

"Where is the water coming from? I'm on the ninth floor," she asked.

"The water is pouring into my apartment. Everything in my house is destroyed."

Across Brooklyn at the Gowanus Houses, at least three of the 14 buildings were still without water, heat and electric a week after the notoriously polluted canal nearby poured into manhole covers and basements and knocked out power.

By Monday residents said Con Edison crews had fixed the lines leading into the development, but NYCHA had yet to repair the fuses in the basements.

"There needs to be better coordination between the agencies," said Brooklyn City Councilman Stephen Levin, who was at the Gowanus Houses talking with both parties all day

Shamika Diaz, 32, worried about her asthmatic son who relies on an electronically powered machine to get oxygen on a regular basis. She couldn't understand why she still had no power when water in the basement of her building had been pumped out days ago.

"And I'm one of the lucky ones. I live on the second floor. I'm not one of the disabled people living on the 10th floor who can't come down."

The Housing Authority said it was doing the best it could under difficult circumstances. Two days before the storm it ordered the evacuation of 26 developments in low-lying areas near the water, shutting off water and elevators. After the surge Monday, power was turned off to 10 projects in Brooklyn and Queens. As of Monday NYCHA spokeswoman Sheila Stainback said the agency had restored elevators, water and electricity to dozens of buildings.

That's the name even residents of Tottenville proudly call their hamlet at the furthest end of Staten Island, beyond the strip malls and the McMansions, past forests that go on for miles to the edge of Raritan Bay, where people still ride horses to the store, and a worker can commune with the sea in his own bungalow, yet still be in New York City.

In the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, the nickname has resonated with cruel irony. "We have not been helped by the government here at all, and the Red Cross just brought water and cookies," said Jamie McCue, whose relatives lost their home to waist-deep floodwaters. "But in Tottenville, we're close. We help ourselves."

Michael and Traci Abruzzo's home was completely washed away. Worse, they'd lost best friends across the street. They'd recovered from damage after the 2010 nor'easter. They'd recovered after Hurricane Irene. But this time, they didn't think they could stay.

"My husband had done everything Monday morning - he siliconed our doorways and windows so they were sealed tight," said Traci Abruzzo, a pretty blonde. "We evacuated with our two daughters. Our neighbors, the Dresches, stayed and, when the storm hit, Pat started calling me. `The big tree in front of your house is down! It's just gone! And my apple tree is gone!' she said. She called again and said, `Now there's no power.' Then she called and said, `The water is up to the last step of our house! A hot water tank just floated by!' She was scared. It was the last time I talked with her."

Abruzzo started to cry. "I couldn't get in touch with her. That wasn't like her character. I got really worried, but I fell asleep and then at 1 o'clock in the morning, another neighbor called. She said, `Your house is completely gone.

Only the slab is there. And we can't find Pat, George, and Angela' (the Dresches' 13-year-old child)."

Abruzzo kept the news to herself through the night. "I didn't want to wake my husband up and tell him our whole life was gone," she told the Daily News. "I was afraid he would have a heart attack." In the morning, another neighbour called and said, "Pat is in the hospital. But George and Angela didn't make it."

The Rev. Francis Dias, the pastor of Our Lady Help of Christians Church, where Abruzzo works and where her daughters, Olivia, 8, and Faith, 6, go to school, said, "They didn't want to go because they were looted after Hurricane Irene. But then the water came up. The house shook, and it fell apart. Pat could hear their voices crying for help in the dark, but she didn't know where they were."

The parish is trying to raise money for the two funerals, and to help the five families whose homes were carried away. The Abruzzos lost everything. "I just brought two bags of clothes, because I thought it would be like Irene and we would just have to clean up the first floor," Traci Abruzzo said.

They have no furniture, no pots or pans, shoes or clothes. Her complete collection of Barbie dolls back to the 1960s is gone. Olivia's American Girl doll was found, dirty and injured, and the child has written to the company to ask if she can be admitted to its hospital.

"The main thing is, we're alive," Abruzzo said, and cried again. "But the next day after the hurricane, my husband said, `We can't stay here anymore.'"

But as much as waters can rise up, people can, too. Especially in a place like Tottenville. And the people brought soup, and food, and muscle.

"I couldn't believe it," Michael Abruzzo said. "Friends and neighbors came, but also people I'd seen in the store or the sidewalk but who I didn't really know, came, and they were digging in this foul-smelling muck to help us find stuff.

They found pictures of our kids, which is the most important thing. Even teenagers came and were digging. Where are you going to find a community like that?"